WON'T THE RED QUEEN TELL ME?

11:27 pm — I considered going back upstairs to try to watch the rest of last week's The Walking Dead or get caught up on Boardwalk Empire. I watched some of Walking Dead, but, even though zombies don't scare me, it was too gross and creepy and did nothing to improve my already squirrelly mood. Perhaps, thought I, I could finish that book of poetry by Doriane Laux that I have had for six months. Or write my blog. The zombie show does give me nightmares and I feel lousy enough.

I have yet to pinpoint why, but sexual abuse of children wrecks me utterly. I get fairly wound up about sexual harrassment, rape, and even the pervasive sexist culture around us. But it is the sexual abuse of children that makes me consider lying down in the middle of 8th Avenue and seeing what hits me. I already feel mowed down.

Saturday morning I have therapy and this Saturday morning I woke up early enough to drink plenty of coffee and read the news. There were some excellent, insightful postings on the Penn State Crime Spree. I posted them on my FB page, made a few comments and headed out the door.

As is my current wont, I pulled out some early Grateful Dead cds, American Beauty (70) and Skullfuck (71). I think I inherited them both from Carl. I have no idea what I was looking for, but I played a few songs on American Beauty a few times and then, just before I parked, cranked up Bertha from Skullfuck. I cannot say exactly where I was roaming through my memories and emotions, but I am trying to find or understand something.

It was quite bracing this morning and I had only brought along my cotton MTV hoodie. K was ever so slightly late. I started yammering before I even had my shoes off. I know my monologue meandered around the Dead, being a Dead Head, and what ultimately cause me to renounce them. (A long story, too long for tonight.)

Ultimately, we talked about my reaction to the Penn State Crime Spree. I cry often about it. Not full on crying breakdowns, more that I am moved or started to tears by particular phrases in articles. The vulnerability I feel lately, and perhaps the propensity for quick tears may be precipitated by being unmedicated ... living bareback at the moment because I cannot afford meds. Penn State is not the only thing that moves me easily.

All of this rambling to say that the more I spoke about Sandusky, et al., the sadder I became. And I am trying to understand why this is so emotionally devastating to me. I wonder if I had been sexually abused, molested, something? and do not remember, although I keep looking.

K suggested that perhaps it was the power relationship and the powerlessness that so upsets me. Not to mention an inhumanity to human suffering along the lines of Nazi Germans.

All I know is that something was touched. I had a difficult time driving home as I was in a very spacey, a particularly emotionally spacey place I refer to as my "fugue" state (and certainly not so defined by the DSM-IV). I could not concentrate on much of anything. I was nearly uncommunicative. And, although I had woken up this morning, full of energy and ideas, they were gone. I just took to bed for a long sleep.

This week has been a long, slog. There have been several emotional/relationship confrontations in the past 7 to 10 days. Others with whom I am quite close are having very difficult times or dealing with strange or sad news. I mean Fedora Dorato died. Lots going on. I felt like Alice being dragged along by the Red Queen and not getting anywhere.

That said, I am going to take it on faith that tomorrow will be another day.